"What the fuuuck," she breathed. The silence descended then, and they regarded each other across the distance of this temple that wasn't hers. He was apologizing. Again. As if he were used to it. She finally shook her head at him, came back to what he was actually saying, and shook her head again.
"You mean you were the only one?" she asked. That was even stranger. Her disbelief was clear. Somehow, it seemed, he'd gotten what he wanted: all of her, with no allowance for what else she must have needed. "You're a right ass, you know," she said at last. "Even if you do apologize for it after." And that got a snort out of her. Apologies. From Akheron. That was as foreign as laughter from their father.
Then... Their father had laughed in the beginning, when they were still young, still living in Nyx' temple. Had Akheron ever, when he was young... Styx couldn't recall. Her youth was filled with Moros, with tormenting Thanatos and with chasing around the creatures of the Underworld with Cloey.
He'd said his Styx was happy. Happy. The thought twisted uncomfortably inside her head. It just didn't fit. "Really?" she asked again. "Anteros, maybe? He isn't... nauseating." Her long legs unfolded, and she crossed the distance to stand in front of Akheron. She propped her fists on her hips and eyed him keenly. "What makes you so special that you could be everything to her?"
Phobos had been so close to everything, so close -- light and dark at the same time. Akheron had never been anything close to... but then, Akheron never apologized, either. Akheron didn't care what other people thought. Her brow pinched together.